Away From The Sun
by T. N. Weston
Summary: Some Reichenbach Falls plot bunnies that simply won't let me be, including, Sherlock pretending to be American, and Molly's Mother. The first two chapter's contain dialogue from the show, so... Spoilers! I do hope you take a look and enjoy it!
1. Falling Down

**A/N: I don't generally like to write long author's notes, but I need to this chapter, so: sorry in advance.**

**Firstly, chapters one and two include parts of dialogue from the show, so… SPOILERS!**

**Secondly, I suck at writing summaries, so thank you so much if you chose to read this story despite my inability to "sell it".**

**This is completely un-beta'd so all mistakes (and despite my spending hours editing this I'm sure there are still some) are mine.**

**Also, I'm doing my best to use the correct terms, but I'm American so I'm bound to make some mistakes and I would greatly appreciate any constructive criticism you have there. I'm researching what I can, but…**

**I've got chapters 1 – 8 already written and I plan to post a new chapter every few days to begin with. However, I am almost terrified to start. You see, I plan to write a case into this story, but the idea is fairly nebulous at the moment, and I've never **_**really**_** written a mystery before, so that's… Yeah.**

**Okay, that's all I have to say. From here on out, my author notes should not be this long.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

**Love Tessa xxx**

**DISCLAIMER: No copy right infringement intended. All recognizable characters belong to the creators of this absolutely amazing show; namely Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.**

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><p>The detective and the military doctor stormed out of Kitty Riley's, house, senses heightened, searching for any sign of BrookMoriarty.

"Can he do that? Completely change his identity; Make you the criminal?" John queried. To anyone who knew, truly knew, Sherlock this was a preposterous lie. However, to all the naysayers and conspiracy theorists out there this would just be kindling; fuel added to their ignorant fire.

"He's got my entire life story," Sherlock stated. His tone changed abruptly to one of derision as he paced the street, "That's what you do when you sell a big lie: you wrap it up in a truth to make it more palatable."

John skimmed the article he still held in his hand, "It'll be your word against his."

"He's been sowing doubt into people's minds for the past twenty-four hours," Sherlock paused for a moment, but his pacing became more frantic, "There's only one thing he needs to do to complete his game and that's to—"

A sudden realization hit Sherlock, literally stopping the detective in his tracks; his explanation unfinished. He could see it all clearly now; the endgame. All the pieces on Moriarty's board fell neatly into place. He now knew the criminal's final move; the solution to the _final_ problem. However, a plan of his own quickly began to form in Sherlock's mind. Moriarty had him penned in at the moment. Seemingly only one move left, but Sherlock had a concealed weapon, so to speak.

At the sudden halt of movement and sound John looked up at this friend, "Sherlock?"

"There's something I need to do," Sherlock answered quietly.

"What? Can I help?" John turned his attention solely to his friend.

Sherlock started heading quickly toward St. Bart's, "No. On my own." He had to catch Molly.

* * *

><p>"You're wrong you know," Sherlock spoke just loud enough for Molly to hear as she attempted to open the door.<p>

The young pathologist had not heard the detective enter and was, thus, startled by the voice emitting from the back of the room. She spun on her heal, the door latch clicking audibly back in place. Molly's heart raced as her eyes met his profile; whether from the fright or the simple sight of him she couldn't be sure.

"You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you. But you were right," Sherlock paused and finally turned his gaze on Molly. Sherlock needed her to see his sincerity; to believe him, "I'm not okay."

The raw emotion in his voice unsettled Molly and she couldn't hide the artless concern that flooded her voice and made her lean towards him; just a little, "Tell me what's wrong."

"Molly, I think I'm going to die," Sherlock stated with just a hint of urgency as he turned, slowly closing the distance between them.

The certainty in Sherlock's voice and the way he held her gaze frightened Molly. She would do anything… _Anything_ if she thought it would keep him safe. Immediately Molly replied, "What do you need?"

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am," Sherlock was close now. Molly could hear the gravel in his voice as he spoke, and his eyes shone more brightly than normal; even in the dim light of the lab. _Tears?_ "Would you still want to help me?"

"What do you need?" Molly asked softly, sincerely, as she held his gaze.

Sherlock took another step forward. When the detective spoke his voice was thick with hurt and need, "You."

As much as Molly wanted to _believe_ that Sherlock was seeking solace in her arms, she knew he meant something else entirely. So, Molly kept her voice calm, though Sherlock's steadfast stare made her heart skip several beats, "What for?"

"You're insignificant; unimportant. There's nothing between us," Sherlock turned away and began to pace.

Why did he always have to be so cruel? Molly blinked back the tears that stung at her eyes and bit down on her lip to keep it from trembling at Sherlock's statement, "Sher—,"

"Or so Moriarty thinks. You're safe. You'll be safe! No one will be on you. You don't matter!" Sherlock spun back around and closed the distance between them before he laid his strong hands on Molly's shoulders, "Not to him."

Molly stood staring at Sherlock, mouth open, head slightly down, but looking up into his stormy blue eyes.

"You were a pawn," Sherlock grinned wildly, and a bolt of excitement flashed though his eyes as his hands slipped down to grip her upper arms, "but what Moriarty doesn't realize is you are the most important piece on the whole board."

Confusion replaced hurt in Molly's features, "How?"

"Because if you will help me die; I can save you all!" Sherlock answered soberly.


	2. Staying Alive

**Chapter 2**

****A/N: I'll be posting chapter 3: In The Dark on Wednesday****

****DISCLAIMER: No copy right infringement intended. All recognizable characters belong to the creators of this absolutely amazing show; namely Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.****

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><p>The shot rang out and Sherlock watched as a cone of blood and gray matter atomized behind Moriarty. With a thud the criminal fell to the ground. Though Sherlock had foreseen the possibility that Moriarty would kill himself the shock of the act still sent the detective reeling. He had been so close to erasing this all. With Moriarty captured and his… friends safe he would have slowly been able to rebuild his reputation, but now… The only way out was down.<p>

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><p>"Oh, God!" Molly's gloved hand flew to her mouth as she felt the bed of the lorry jar slightly as Sherlock landed on the bags of soiled hospital linens. Quickly she slid from the cab and crouched near the tire as Sherlock rolled out the side hatch. Molly had unlatched it before positioning the Lorry in front of the pathology building.<p>

Sherlock moaned as he rolled onto his side, "Are… are you badly injured?" Molly asked. She tried, and failed, to keep her voice steady.

"I'll live," Sherlock scoffed.

Molly's face contorted into a sad smile.

"Be quick, Molly!" Sherlock reprimanded.

"I'll make sure I get you," Molly responded as she pulled a syringe out of her pocket, uncapped it and jammed the needle into Sherlock's leg in one swift move.

A rough breath escaped Sherlock's lips as his eyes went dead. Molly then opened the container of pig's blood and doused the area around the detectives head liberally, then, quickly returned to the idling lorry and pulled off. As she turned the corner Molly caught sight of John trying to fight through the crowd gathering around his friend; her heart broke.

With tears in her eyes, Molly abandoned the machine at a nearby dumpster and quickly made her way back to her lab in the mortuary.

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><p>A few minutes later Sherlock laid in the morgue under a blood stained white sheet. Molly swiped a few stray tears from her cheeks and steeled herself to pull back the sheet. She needed to be focused on Sherlock right now, not the pain John was in. Sherlock wasn't dead, but if she didn't act quickly to reverse the chemical compound he'd had her administer it would only be a matter of time.<p>

Jaw set, breathing steady, Molly removed the sheet and deposited it in the biohazard bin. She had to bite back tears at the sight of the blood that covered half of the detective's face and one shoulder. It wasn't the blood itself that disturbed her; she saw that every day, but the sight of the blood on _him_.

After sliding the lids closed over Sherlock's glacial blue eyes, Molly quickly rolled up his left shirt sleeve. Molly, then turned and retrieved another syringe from her workstation, removed the cap, inserted the needle into his vein and depressed the plunger. Given all their calculations were correct, it would take another ten minutes for Sherlock to come around.

Molly set to cleaning the man up as best she could with just a few clean rags and water. A large bruise was forming around Sherlock's left eye and on the knuckles of his left hand.

Obviously, Sherlock had been bracing himself for impact (despite the fact there was plenty of cushioning). Sherlock had been slightly winded as he struck, but he'd been able to talk before she'd sedated him so he wasn't likely to have broken anything.

Seven minutes later the blood had been washed from Sherlock's head and neck. Whatever was left would have to wait until after the detective awoke. She checked Sherlock's pulse, thirty-eight beats per minute; slow, but he was coming around.

Molly retrieved the clothing, shoes, contacts, and hair dye she'd stuffed in her bag early this morning and set it at Sherlock's feet, then leaned back against the opposite autopsy table and waited.

Two minutes later Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and he began to cough violently. Molly helped the detective sit up, keeping a hand on his arm and back to make sure he wouldn't fall over. After the coughing fit passed Sherlock closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

"Are you o—," Molly began, but of course Sherlock wasn't okay. She'd seen just a few hours prior how much the thought of having to trick his friend, having to play the liar, hurt him," um, I mean, you've a nasty bruise on your cheek and your hand. Does anything else hurt?"

"No," came Sherlock's simple reply.

"The clothing and such is down here," Molly motioned towards the pile at the end of the table, "I _know_ you're going to detest the clothing, but you said you needed a good disguise. _No one_ will recognize you in these."

Sherlock just stared ahead silently. Molly turned to leave, turned back, and back again. She wanted to say something, give some comfort, but what do you say to a man that's just had to fake his death to save his friends. Two steps from the office door the sound of Sherlock's voice stopped her, "Molly?"

Molly didn't turn, but responded, "What do you need?"

"Thank you."


	3. In The Dark

**Chapter 3**

**A/N: ****I'll be posting chapter 4: Neon Tiger on Friday.******

****DISCLAIMER: No copy right infringement intended. All recognizable characters belong to the creators of this absolutely amazing show; namely Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.****

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><p>"Ah! Damn!" Sherlock's voice carried through the wall as he stood at the wash basin just outside of the lab's office.<p>

Molly was up and out the door in a moment. She stopped short; mouth gaping slightly as she caught sight of the detective. He had traded his trousers for dark denim jeans, and now wore red trainers in place of his customary dress shoes. However, his chest remained bare. Molly blushed a deep pink as she averted her eyes and asked, "Are… Um, can I do anything, Sherlock?"

Sherlock cradled his left hand against his body, then, sighed, "The pain in my hand is making it difficult for me to even open this damn thing."

"Let me see," two steps brought Molly to Sherlock's side; embarrassment at his state of undress forgotten. She gently placed her hand over his injured one and drew it close for inspection. After a short, though thorough, inspection Molly looked up, "I don't _feel_ any broken bones, but I want to wrap it just in case."

All business now, Molly led the detective over to a work station and had him sit while she searched through a few drawers. A minute later the young pathologist returned with two ace bandages. One she folded three times and instructed Sherlock to hold it to the palm of his hand and his wrist while she wrapped all but his thumb and finger-tips, down past his wrist, "Try to move your fingers."

Sherlock complied, the restriction was sufficient.

"You're going to help me now," It wasn't a question or a demand, but a statement. Sherlock noticed Molly's eyes flitting back and forth as she mentally listed the items and tasks she needed to accomplish before they left. Molly's shift would end in ninety minutes; the hair color would take sixty of those minutes to process.

"Yes," Molly absently answered Sherlock's non-question, then had him stand before dragging the chair over to the basin. The detective followed a moment later.

"Could… rather… Just, uh, sit, Sherlock," Molly waffled, ending with a bashful, "Please."

Molly retrieved the shampoo from the basin and a small beaker from the shelf above them as Sherlock got situated. Molly instructed him to rest his head on the edge of the sink as she flicked on the water.

Sherlock shivered slightly as Molly poured the first lukewarm beaker of water over his blood matted hair.

"Sorry," Molly apologized as she adjusted the temperature before filling the beaker a second time, "Better?"

Sherlock merely grunted in response.

"I can't imagine you with lighter hair," Molly flashed the meekest of smiles at the detective as she squeezed a dollop of shampoo into her palm, "I'm not sure even I'll recognize you."

Sherlock closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, "I find that highly unlikely as you are the one performing the… procedure."

"I'm… Oh, nevermind," Molly sighed as she drew closer and began to massage the shampoo into the detective's scalp. She let her eyes drink in the angular curves of his face as she worked the lather through the detectives dark locks. She rid a few specks of blood from the crease of his ear before turning to rinse the blood tinged suds off her hands and fill the beaker.

When Molly turned back Sherlock was watching her. She flashed him a tight smile, then, returned to her work; Sherlock's gaze never left her face.

"You're blushing," Sherlock noted a few minutes later as Molly rinsed the last of the gore from his hair.

"You're staring," Molly replied. Silently she added: _and you're not wearing a shirt_.

"Not staring; observing," Sherlock responded as Molly towel dried Sherlock's hair.

"What's left to observe? You know me better than I know myself usually. I bet you could even tell me what color knickers I'm wearing!" Molly flushed deep red and began to tremble as she turned away, "Oh, God! Um…"

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow in the mortified woman's direction, but answered plainly, "Red. Bikini briefs, if I'm not mistaken, but that's hardly the point, Molly—"

Molly shook her head as though the action would erase her blithering comment, then, squared her shoulders and turned around, "What is the point?"

"You look unwell," Sherlock stated as Molly retrieved the box of hair color from the autopsy table.

"So do you," Molly replied as she ran her fingers through Sherlock's hair to separate it a bit. It was soft and the curls fell lazily over her fingers as she combed them over his scalp. Molly sighed, "It's such a shame."

"It's only hair, Molly. I can grow out the length and color as soon as I take care of Moriarty's lieutenants," Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Molly huffed, "How long do you think that will take?"

"It should take no more than a few months for my hair to return to its natural color," Sherlock nodded.

"Not what I meant, and you know it!" Molly reprimanded the shirtless detective and lightly slapped him on the shoulder.

Sherlock sighed wearily, "There's no way to tell at this point. Though, it's bound to be at least a few months."

Molly twisted the top off of the bottle of color to add the activator, "John will miss you terribly."

"As will I," Sherlock frowned and laid his head back on the edge of the sink to continue his transformation.

* * *

><p>Molly stood at her lab station mindlessly wiping down the counter top for the fifth time; trying to keep her mind off of the happenings of the last 24 hours.<p>

"What do you think?"

Molly jumped at the voice of an American man coming from the direction of her office. She spun around and took in the sight before her. There stood a man she didn't recognize with close cut ginger hair, and brown eyes. He wore a charcoal gray motorcycle jacket over a gray graphic tee, dark denim jeans, and red trainers.

"Sherlock?" Molly stood looking at him dumb-founded. Had she not assisted in the transformation Molly would not have recognized the man that was walking towards her, "My God!"

"Think it's convincing enough," this new man asked with his new voice.

Molly said nothing but circled him once, mouth gaping and eyes wide. Once in front of the detective again she nodded, but the words that came out of her mouth were, "Your voice?"

"I… _acquired_ secondary papers sometime ago, but that identity," Sherlock had begun the sentence in his usual accent, but here switched it out again, "He's American."

Molly continued to stare for a moment before Sherlock held out his right hand, "Sean Harper, Ma'am, pleasure to meet you."

Without conscious effort Molly accepted Sherlock's, nee Sean's hand giving it a small shake, "We should probably go home… I mean my home… but well, I told you you're welcome to stay as long as you want… Um, need… I know you don't want to live… stay… with me… "

"Molly," Sherlock pulled lightly on the hand he still held in his, not enough to unbalance her, but just enough to grab Molly's attention.

With a deep breath Molly brought her gaze to Sherlock's unrecognizable brown orbs, "I—"

"Thank you," Sherlock got out before Molly could continue rambling.

"I, um, yes, well," Molly stuttered taken aback at the uncommon, at least for Sherlock, nicety.

"Shall we?" Sherlock asked gesturing toward the door.

Molly nodded slightly before she retrieved her coat and bag while Sherlock turned out the lights. They met at the door and Molly furtively stepped into the hallway. Once certain the hall was empty Molly beckoned Sherlock out with a small wave.

The two made it out of the building without running into a single soul. Once they were a few blocks from the morgue, less likely to be seen by someone they knew, the two stopped at a coffee house. Molly bought them both a pastry and coffee as neither had eaten since late the night before. The walk back to Molly's flat was mostly silent, but not uncomfortably so.

"We're here," Molly spoke softly as she fished her keys from the bottom of her handbag. With a sigh she unlocked and opened the door. Barely a step inside Molly's jaw dropped as she gasped, "Mum! What on Earth are you doing here?"

A near silent sigh escaped Sherlock's lips as out of the corner of her eye Molly watched the young detective hurry away. She knew he was gone for good; now as good as dead to her as well. Molly swallowed the tears that threatened to fall.

"Molly! There you are, Darling!" Anne, the fifty-something red-head, wrapped her daughter a perfunctory hug, "I seem to have timed this perfectly."

Molly wearily returned her mother's hug as she again asked, "What are you doing here mother?"

"Oh, I came to take you shopping, dear!" Anne beamed.

"I'm really not in the mood, Mum," Molly sighed as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, "I've just lost one of my best friends."

"Did you scare them away with that garish ensemble, Love?" Anne chuckled as she gestured to her daughter's rag-tag clothing.

"He _DIED_ mother!" Molly sobbed and fell against the wall. She wasn't sure she could stand on her own two feet anymore.

"Oh, _Oh!_" Anne stuttered for a moment before squaring her shoulders and donning a tight smile, "Well, all the more reason to go shopping."

Molly let herself be pulled to the pavement and dragged to the next junction toward the tube; she no longer had the strength to fight, "Get you some retail therapy; we'll give you a makeover! My treat! Come now, Love, wipe those tears and off we go!"


	4. Neon Tiger

**Chapter 4**

********A/N: If you find yourself lost as to what's going on at the beginning of this chapter. I realized I forgot a HUGE chunk of the story the first time I posted last night so you may want to go back and re-read (or read the part under the first/only line break) the chapter. Sorry for any confusion. That's what happens when I'm running on skittles and coffee! ********

********I'll be posting chapter 5: Sub-Reality right now because it took so long to post this one. I've been trying to do it since 6a EST...********

************DISCLAIMER: No copy right infringement intended. All recognizable characters belong to the creators of this absolutely amazing show; namely Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.****

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><p>Anne dragged her daughter into a large department store the elder of the two women frequented, "This way, Molly! I just <em>must<em> introduce you to my personal stylist, Trish. She'll have you done up proper in no time."

Molly followed; pulling the cream sweater tight around her frame at some of the looks she was getting from a few of the department store's employees. This store was far too posh for the young pathologist tastes; let alone her budget.

"Annie!" A rack of blouses called out to the women, "I'd begun to think you weren't coming."

"Had to stop and pick up my daughter. I'm treating her today; she's had a bit of a bad day," Anne answered as a petite forty-something woman with jet black hair and porcelain skin stepped out from behind the clothing rack. Molly scoffed at her mother's words; _bit of a bad day_ didn't even begin to cover the situation.

"Don't worry, dear, a day getting pampered and I'm sure whatever is bothering you won't seem quite so bad," The stylist announced.

"Exactly what I've been telling her, Trish," Anne smiled brightly.

Molly's jaw dropped, her mother truly thought a makeover would lessen the pain of the death of someone you… someone you cared for. No, it would make her mother feel better, but Molly couldn't feel sadder if Sherlock was actually dead. Molly's head fell into her hands as tears once again watered her flushed cheeks.

Trish turned her attention to the weeping young woman, "Well, I was going to suggest starting with make-up, but… No, we'll find you the perfect outfit first. Come… This way. What are you, a size six?"

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><p>Five hours later Molly and Anne exited the store. Both women had been made over, Anne looked smart in her navy tweed jacket and pencil skirt, the ivory peep toe court shoes did wonders for her legs. Molly on the other hand felt as though she had been beaten. A team of people, including her mother, had berated Molly's sense of style the entire time.<p>

The problem was that Molly didn't have a style per se when she went to work. There was simply too much of a chance anything nice she owned would be ruined by seeping, leaking, or exploding bodily fluids during an autopsy. Therefore, most of her clothing was bought at second hand stores, but it wasn't what she liked it was just what she wore.

And Molly most definitely did not like the electric blue sleeveless pencil dress that Anne and Trish had _insisted_ upon, or the six inch, bejeweled, platform heels that were making it exceedingly difficult for Molly to walk. And the makeup… They had _supposedly _given her a 'smoky eye', but the electric blue of the shadow and highly contrasting vibrant pink of her lips made Molly feel like a bit of a freak show.

The odd thing was she got nothing but compliments and approving looks as she passed the same employees from before. As they reached the door Molly was unsure that she'd be able to maneuver her mass of curls, teased to within an inch of their life, through the department store door, let alone the door of the cab that Trish had called for them.

Molly gave the cabby her address, then leaned back into the seat and closed her eyes.

"Oh, Love did you see all the looks you got. Now I can be proud to call you my daughter," Anne beamed.

Molly bit back a frown, instead offering a tight smile and replied, "Thank you."

"Tomorrow, we're going to join Regina and Lynda for tea. Unfortunately, you're hair won't survive the night, but I bought all the make-up Heidi used so you'll look presentable," Anne stated.

"Mother, I have plans tomorrow, and I thought you were heading home tonight," Molly shot her mother a look.

"I'm sure you can change them, and do you really want your dear old mother to take the tube? This time of night!" Anne shot her daughter a look of disbelief, "Rubbish! I'm not above sleeping on your couch, as long as you keep that beast away from me."

Molly began to argue, but quickly shut her mouth. Provided they could even find a cabby that was willing to drive the three hundred and some kilometers to her mother's home the cost would be prohibitively expensive, even for Anne.

"Fine. Oh, and Toby won't bother you, He usually sleeps at night," Molly replied as she ran a tired hand over her forehead.

Anne nodded to her daughter. Molly spent the remainder of the ride home listening to her mother prattle on about one thing or another, but kept her tired gaze focused out the window. When the cabby pulled to a stop in front of Molly's flat Anne stepped out and handed the cabby a few bills.

Molly followed close behind. As she passed the front window she distinctly felt the shape of a hand brush over the curve of her bum. With a gasp the young woman turned to see the cabby tip his hat and smirk, "Night ladies!"

Anne giggled, "See what putting just a little bit of work into your appearance brings?"

"Perverts grabbing my bum?" Molly huffed in disgust.

"No, Love, _attention_," Anne smiled up at her daughter.

_Not exactly the kind of attention I want and definitely not from… him. _Molly thought as she pulled her keys from the bag she'd had to fight tooth and nail to keep.

Molly unlocked the front door then moved up the stairs to the door of her flat, unlocking that as well. Anne entered first as Molly removed the torture devices that someone dared to call shoes, then entered and closed the door. Molly shut her eyes and leaned hard against the cool wood. Anne was still talking a minute later when Molly opened her weary eyes.

"Mother, could you please just give me a moment of silence," Molly pleaded. Anne's only answer was to roll her eyes as she continued her one-sided conversation.

Molly sighed and threw herself from the door. She walked slowly down the small hallway to her bedroom, and slipped in, not immediately turning the light on. For a moment she just stood, took a few cleansing breaths, then sighed.

Once her ears weren't ringing with the sound of her mother's voice, now muffled through the door, Molly flipped the light switch. What she saw as her eyes adjusted to the glow of the incandescent lights took Molly by complete surprise.


	5. SubReality

**Chapter 5**

**A/N: When Sherlock is using his American accent I will refer to him as **_**Sean**_**lock. :-D Also, ******I'll be posting chapter 6: I Must Be Dreaming on Monday (I simply won't have time on Sunday). ********

****DISCLAIMER: No copy right infringement intended. All recognizable characters belong to the creators of this absolutely amazing show; namely Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.****

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><p>"Sherlock?" Molly barely squeaked out. In an instant she was surrounding him; her arms about his waist; her cheek pressed to his chest; her lungs drawing in <em>his<em> scent.

Sherlock let out a forceful breath at the unbidden contact. He stood stunned for a second or two, before resting his hands on Molly's petite shoulders and pushing her back a bit.

"What…" Sherlock began, but one look at the utter relief on her face answered his question, "You thought I'd left… for good."

"I was sure of it," Molly admitted.

One corner of Sherlock's mouth turned up slightly, "I have nowhere else to go."

Though Molly wished he'd come back for more than just needing somewhere to sleep she wasn't about to let that toss away the happiness she felt at seeing him. _Oh, he needs somewhere to sleep!_

"Oh, god, Sherlock!" Molly jumped back.

"I know," Sherlock stated with a roll of his eyes. He jerked his head suddenly, like a cat listening quietly for its prey.

"What?" Molly looked to the door, and then whispered, "Is she coming?"

Sherlock nodded as he took a seat at the foot of her bed and held out his hand, "Come here."

Molly's heart thudded painfully at the innocent thought of Sherlock _sitting_ on her bed. However, she schooled her face then took Sherlock's hand and moved to stand in front of him just in time for Anne to throw the door open and barge in.

"Oh, _OH_!" Anne exclaimed as she entered the room at the same time that _Sean_lock looked to Molly and asked, "Oh, Sweetheart, what _carnival_ did you escape from?"

Anne gasped, affronted.

For once Molly was happy Sherlock hated her outfit. With a small giggle Molly replied, "Mum took me for a makeover."

Frowning, _Sean_lock groaned and motioned for Molly to turn about for him. With a shake of his head _Sean_lock stood and laid a warm hand on her cheek, "I _much_ prefer the way you look naturally."

Molly's heart rate and breathing quickened at his touch, but she forced a relaxed and warm smile on her face. Anne only grimaced.

_Sean_lock ran a thumb over hear cheek as his other hand wandered to her arm, "This only succeeds in hiding how naturally beautiful you are."

Molly tried, and succeeded quite well, at hiding her utter shock to being called beautiful, by Sherlock Holmes no less. A small, though bright, smile played at her lips.

"Who are you anyway?" Anne raised her chin several inches as she leveled her cool brown eyes on _the American_, "**I** think she looks stunning."

"And I think I look like a clown, Mother," Molly admitted, but couldn't meet her mother's eyes.

Sherlock moved from in front of Molly; the absence of the heat that emanated from his body made her shiver.

"I'm Sean Harper ma'am. It's nice to finally get to meet you," _Sean_lock extended his hand with a smile, but when Anne just continued to stare at him both his hand and his smile fell.

After another stretch of silence Molly sighed and asked, "I'm assuming you barged in here for some reason, Mum?"

"I was going to ask for a blanket and a real pillow," Anne smiled softly at her daughter, but I'll also need to borrow a night shirt. Don't want your boyfriend catching me in my under-things should he need to use the toilet during the night.

"Of course, Mum," Molly turned and began to rummage through her dresser drawer.

_Sean_lock cleared his throat, "Well… uh… I… maybe _**I**_ should take the couch tonight, Honey."

Molly gawked at Sherlock. Stuttering. Sherlock Stuttering. She didn't think she had ever seen anything more endearing; even if it was just an act.

"Nonsense!" Anne cried out shocking Sherlock and Molly both, "Molly doesn't see enough action. Hand me a blanket and a pillow then give her a good shag! God knows she needs it with the mood she's been in all day."

Molly gasped and covered her face; mortified. Sherlock's face was unreadable as he handed over the throw blanket at the end of Molly's bed and one of the down pillows. Anne then turned and left the room leveling a coy grin on her daughter as she shut the door.

Once she was sure Anne was out of hearing range Molly took a shaky breath, "I-um-ll, sleep on the floor."

"She'll look in on us later tonight," Sherlock stated flatly.

Molly knew he was right and let out a ragged breath as she nodded; the thought of Sherlock _sitting_ on her bed had nearly been enough to stop Molly's heart. But the thought of him actually _in_ her bed, sleeping with… next to her; she felt faint.

The color drained from her face and she began to shake. Sherlock steadied her with hand at her elbow and led Molly the few steps to the edge of her bed. Once she was seated he went to her dresser and pulled out a clean pair of light pink pants and Molly's favorite pajamas. Oh, this was just too much. Color flooded her face as Molly fell back onto the bed and hid her reddening cheeks with trembling hands.

Molly felt a puff of air as Sherlock tossed the clothing next to her on the bed, then a dip in the mattress; he'd taken a seat at the end of her bed. Molly lowered her hands to the sides of her head and looked at her roomie for the night.

"I can't imagine it would be comfortable to sleep in… that," Sherlock smirked as he gestured to her makeup.

Molly shook her head as she sat up and laid a hand on the clothes he'd laid next to her. Had he been any other man Molly would have wondered how he knew exactly where her things were and what items were her favorites, but Sherlock wasn't any other man. He had most certainly snooped through her things after letting himself in, presumably through her bedroom window. With regards to her favorites; he was Sherlock, of course he'd know what she liked.

A fleeting image of Sherlock pressing her down into the mattress, feathering light kisses down her neck and over her collarbone, had Molly turning from pink to scarlet. To wear… What she liked _to wear_. Oh, God, she wasn't going to survive this night.

Molly exhaled sharply as she grabbed the night clothes and purposefully made her way to the toilet. A shower would help soothe her nerves as it rinsed the reminders of the day; gore and glamour, from her body.

Twenty minutes later Molly stood outside her bedroom door willing herself to turn the handle. It took a deep breath and hearing her mother stir in the darkened living room, but she was finally able to do it. Molly was glad for the coolness of the metal doorknob beneath her fingers as heat rushed through her body at the sight before her. Sherlock had found and changed into one of her brother's old t-shirts, it was two sizes too big and made him look absolutely adorable. Molly could tell he wasn't asleep, though he lay on his back with his eyes closed.

When the door clicked shut Sherlock opened his eyes and smiled, genuinely, at her, "Much better."

With a nod Molly returned a much more timid smile, "Agreed."

Molly slowly made her way to the bedside. She just stood and stared at _her side_ for long moment.

"Once I'm asleep I don't move," Sherlock stated as he closed his eyes and laid his hands over his chest.

"Right," Molly responded as she finally settled herself beneath the covers, "Good… Goodnight, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded with a hum, "Goodnight, Molly Hooper."


	6. I Must Be Dreaming

**Chapter 6**

********A/N: I'll be posting chapter 7: Circle on Wednesday.********

****DISCLAIMER: No copyright infringement intended. All recognizable characters belong to the creators of this absolutely amazing show; namely Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.****

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><p><em>Sherlock and Molly skidded to a stop at the edge of the cliff. Brittle soil continued to breakaway.<em>

"_When I tell you to jump don't hesitate!" Sherlock took Molly by the shoulders and turned her to face him, "Don't hesitate!"_

"_Okay, I trust you," Molly nodded furiously._

_Sherlock turned back toward the cliff and took her hand, "One… Two…"_

"_I'll burn you." A familiar voice growled in Sherlock's ear as Molly burst into flames; screaming, "I'll burn the __**heart **__out of you."_

"_No!" Sherlock bellowed as he whipped around only to be presented with nothing more than air. He spun around searching for the source of the voice, but no one else was there, "NO!"_

_Her screams mixed with the roar of the flames as Molly collapsed to the splintering rock which then fell away and left Sherlock standing alone on the crumbling precipice._

Sherlock drew in a sharp breath as his eyes flew open; Molly's screams still ringing in his ears. Obviously, the horrors that Sherlock had just experienced had been nothing more than a dream, but if he had been at all uncertain the situation he found himself in now would have left him no doubt.

True to his word, Sherlock had not moved once he'd fallen asleep; laying flat with his hands cupped behind his head. Molly however had completely changed position. She'd fallen asleep curled up on her left side, hands crossed over her chest. During the night, however, she had migrated and was now laying basically on her stomach and was pressed tightly to Sherlock's side. Her left arm was thrown around his waist and Molly's head rested heavily on Sherlock's chest just above his heart.

Sherlock lowered his right arm to check the time on his phone, but he had no desire to wake her yet. It was nearly morning anyway, and waking Molly inevitably meant waking Molly's mother; something Sherlock wished to put off for as long as humanly possible. Instead he busied himself with observing Molly in this new situation.

Sherlock noted the rhythm and number of her breaths. He was interested to find that Molly's body temperature dropped over two degrees as she slept, the average being approximately one degree Celsius. Much like a cat, Molly's whole body twitched slightly as she dreamed. All this intrigued Sherlock and he wondered exactly what was happening in her mind's eye.

A while later Molly showed signs of waking, and Sherlock had to stifle a laugh as she reflexively drew her hand over the most sensitive part of his ribs and mumbled something about hanging the bacon on the line.

* * *

><p>The first thing Molly registered as her conscious mind reasserted itself was how warm she felt; it was an enveloping, though not stifling, heat. Next, Molly took note of the soft steady thudding in her right ear; much like a heartbeat. The sound threatened to pull her back into the realm of dreams, but as she nestled deeper into this pleasantly warm nest she was jostled lightly.<p>

Chocolate brown met glacial blue and Molly immediately tensed as she stared into the man's eyes, "You're staring again."

Sherlock shook his head gently, "I'm not staring. I'm—"

"Staring, observing, whatever you call it it's mildly creepy," Molly smiled softly.

The corners of Sherlock's mouth curved up just a little as he lightly squeezed her left arm, and for the first time she realized that it rested all to comfortably across his middle. Molly worried at her bottom lip, "How long have you been up?"

Sherlock shrugged as he inclined his head to view the alarm clock situated on her bedside table, "A couple of hours."

Molly's jaw dropped as she propped herself up on her elbows, "And I was… like this?"

"I told you, I don't move once I'm asleep," Sherlock replied.

The blush on Molly's cheeks deepened, "Why didn't you wake me?"

"There was no need," Sherlock explained. "I didn't have to get up and you looked more relaxed than I've ever seen. Also, I'd rather not wake _HER_ before it is absolutely necessary."

Molly covered her face with one hand as she chuckled abashedly, "Agreed."

After a moments pause Sherlock ran a hand through his sleep ruffled hair, "You took the next two days off as I instructed."

Molly tried not to think about just how adorable Sherlock looked lying in her bed, his hair at odd angles and a day's worth of stubble shading his jaw. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and moved to sit cross-legged on her bed, facing the detective, "Yeah, I called Dr. Chakwas while you were coming out from the sedative yesterday. So I'm yours… or rather, free to help today and tomorrow."

"Good… good," Sherlock replied dryly.

"Um, Sherlock," Molly worried the edge of the blanket between her fingers. A question had been itching in Molly's brain throughout night and though Molly was mildly afraid of his answer she simply had to know, "I… was think… erm, wondering something."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. The usual tension in Molly's face and body was back. He'd always assumed Molly was simply a bit of a wallflower, stumbling over her words; always nervous, but she'd been speaking with him fairly easily just a few seconds ago. Did he do this too her?

But why should he care, or more accurately, why did he care?

It was John… having a friend… friends had changed him and Sherlock was sure it wasn't for the better. After a few seconds of silence Sherlock gave a small sigh, "Yes, Molly."

Molly took a nervous breath and looked down at the material between her hands, "You… you _always _have to point out when someone is wrong, uh, well, that sounds… well it's true… but… okay, not really the point," Molly took an extremely deep breath and exhaled just as deeply.

Sherlock scooted into a sitting position and leaned against her suede covered headboard, then turned his powder blue gaze on the flustered woman, "You think you're offending me, but I assure you; you're not. It's not shameful to be right, Molly; quite the contrary."

"Right." Molly gathered her thoughts before looking back up to meet Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, silently asking her if she was going to continue.

"That's just it. You usually make such a fuss over correcting the smallest things people say, but when my mother referred to you as my boyfriend; ordered you to… well…" Molly blushed momentarily, "You didn't say a word. Why?"

"I thought it would be obvious to you," the corner of Sherlock's mouth turned up ever so slightly.

Could he really? No, no. Right? It wasn't… Molly stared at Sherlock, bewildered. He could see where Molly's mind was leading her, so Sherlock elucidated to Molly his reasoning.

"I don't do feelings and I certainly don't do relationships," Sherlock sneered at the word. "Emotions are a distraction, and distractions are dangerous. If this situation isn't proof of that…"

Molly's heart fell; she should have known this would be his answer.

"If I didn't care if I hadn't let John… Let _you…_ see. I wouldn't be here," Sherlock sighed as he rubbed a rough hand over troubled blue eyes.

Molly felt a tinge of guilt at that, though the circumstances which lead to Sherlock being here with her in her flat, in her bed, however innocently, were horrible; him… here… it was a dream come true. But the strongest emotion she felt at the moment was sadness; Molly felt sad for Sherlock.

When you care, love, someone you do risk getting hurt. However, what would a world without feelings, without love, be like? It must be incredibly lonely, and that made Molly incredibly sad.

After a short pause Sherlock locked his gaze on Molly again and offered a tiny smile, "But what better way to convince any of Moriarty's crew that I'm not Sherlock Holmes then appear to be hopelessly in love?"

Molly gulped. In love, not in a relationship, but in love? Had he actually said those words? And hopelessly. He must have really rattled his brain with that fall, "I thought you said they wouldn't be watching me."

"It's unlikely, but if they are and they see you've got a new male flatmate, well, it could look… suspicious, but having your American boyfriend that just moved to London stay with you… It's less likely to turn heads," Sherlock's expression turned thoughtful, "This is all about hiding in plain sight, Molly. I can't leave, not while the assassin's are still alive. One sighting of me elsewhere in the world… Moriarty likely instructed them to finish the job in that case."

Molly nodded she was beginning to feel sick. Had Sherlock killed before? He'd seen plenty of dead bodies, but had he killed?

"I don't relish the thought of killing anyone, even hired guns, but I have no choice in the matter, Molly. It truly is kill or be killed," Sherlock had read her expression correctly for when he'd finished Molly looked slightly less green.

Molly nodded then looked away as she asked, "Have you ever actually killed… anyone?"

"No, not directly," Sherlock answered. Apprehension flooded over Molly's face. He couldn't have her being scared of him on top of being nervous around him. He needed her help right now so he elaborated on his previously vague reply, "However, I did know there was a booby trap in Irene Adler's safe and that trap killed a man."

Molly let out the breath she'd been holding, "Well, that's good… I think?"

There was a soft scuffing at the door followed by a soft mewling. A tender smile fell over Molly's face, "It would appear as though Toby's decided it's time for us to be up."

* * *

><p><strong>End Note: Yes I did indeed make Sherlock ticklish just because I think it's cute. ;-)<strong>


	7. Circle

**Chapter 7**

********A/N: I'll be posting chapter 8: Somebody Told Me on Friday.********

****DISCLAIMER: No copyright infringement intended. All recognizable characters belong to the creators of this absolutely amazing show; namely Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.****

* * *

><p>"Oh, no you," Molly whispered to Toby as she gingerly lifted him from behind the crook of her mother's knees, brought his soft ears close to her mouth, and lowered her voice still more, "If she finds you there she'll skin you."<p>

Toby purred loudly in response and nestled against Molly's cheek.

"Love you too, big boy," Molly smiled as she placed the cat on the floor and ushered him toward the kitchen.

"Wha' s'at?" Anne mumbled as she pulled the blanket up under her chin.

"Morning, Mum," Molly smiled, "Sleep well?"

Anne hummed an affirmation as she pushed herself to a sitting position.

Molly followed her cat into the kitchen, opened a can of tuna, and set it on the floor in front of the creature. She stroked him a couple times; eliciting a happy purr, then turned and washed her hands.

Molly began to prepare a pot of coffee. She pulled down two coffee cups, "Coffee, Mum?"

"Mhmm, please," Anne stretched for a moment before standing and making her way the kitchen. She removed the milk from refrigerator and set it on the table and took a seat on the right side of the tiny table in the kitchen. Anne watched her daughter mill about the kitchen for a few moments as Molly set to cooking breakfast. With a small smile Anne remarked, "Your bedroom must have excellent sound proofing."

Molly tossed an egg shell into the trash bin, "I'm sorry… What?"

"I didn't hear a single sound come out of your bedroom last night. Either you two are very quiet, or…" Anne shrugged.

Molly felt a blush crawling up her neck, "Mum, I… wha— Uh."

"Oh, are you… feeling delicate?" Anne offered.

"Um, no," Molly sighed.

"Well, what, is he gay then?" Anne persisted.

Molly's only response was to turn a bewildered glance on her mother. Didn't most mothers hold to the often misguided belief that their daughters were unblemished virgins until the day they married? Then again, Anne had never been most mothers.

Suddenly Molly felt a pair of strong arms snake around her waist. She tried not to gasp as she felt Sherlock pull. Her back was now flush with his solid chest.

"Morning, my love," _Sean_lock greeted Molly loud enough for Anne to hear; stop her questioning, "I'm sorry I fell asleep while you were in the shower last night, but that publisher had me trying to rewrite _everything_. Needless to say I was exhausted."

"I said it was okay, Sean," Molly shrugged and tried to sound nonchalant. Squaring her shoulders ever so slightly Molly tried to appear as though this, her wrapped in Sherlock's arms, was a common occurrence. She distracted herself with the task of cooking three eggy-in-a-basket.

Maybe just maybe, Sherlock thought, she could pass her general awkwardness around him off as annoyance.

"Obviously not; you just called me Sean," _Sean_lock whined and momentarily tightened his arms around her waist. Molly couldn't help her mouth from twitching a bit at the sound of a grown man, especially _this_ grown man whining, but she was able to hold back the full toothy grin that threatened to make its self known.

"What else should I call you?" Molly asked, half-sincere.

"Sweetheart, Love of my life, Man of my dreams," Sherlock chuckled. This was ridiculous, but judging by Anne's face she was heartily drinking the scene in.

"Pretty long epithet, Sweetheart, Love of my life, Man of my dreams," Molly barely suppressed a giggle.

_Sean_lock hummed, "I see your point, well then, any of the above will do."

Sherlock inwardly groaned he sounded like a complete idiot. They had to kick Anne out and soon. The detective wasn't sure just how much longer he could keep up the pretense.

Molly hummed, then quietly asked, "Sean… _sweetie_, could you grab some plates? These'll be ready soon."

Sherlock unwrapped his arms from around Molly's middle and went to the cupboard containing the plates like he'd been here a hundred times before. She let a small smile play at her lips; imagining this wasn't some act.

_Sean_lock turned to see Molly watching him, "Now who's the one that's staring?"

Without missing a beat Molly replied, "Not staring; observing."

_Sean_lock chuckled as he set the plates down on the worktop, "Right."

Molly and Sherlock set the table with the food and coffee, eating in relative silence. Once Sherlock finished eating he excused himself and headed to Molly's bedroom.

Little more than a minute later Molly heard _Sean_lock call out, "Honey, have you seen my iPod?"

What the…? If Sherlock even had an iPod it certainly wasn't here. He wanted to talk to her, but if Molly went straight to find it for him Anne would know something was up, "it should be in the top drawer of your bedside table."

"Nope!" _Sean_lock called out.

Molly made a show of sighing as she stood, "Sorry, Mum, but Sean's hopeless when it comes to finding things. Be back in a jiff."

Anne nodded as she swallowed a mouthful of egg and toast.

Molly hurried off to the bedroom to find Sherlock pacing. She closed the door, "What's wrong?"

"Your mother; she's left her husband and is expecting you to take her in," Sherlock stated plainly.

"Wh— H— you're sure… no, of course you are," Molly rolled her eyes more at herself than anything else. She silently wondered exactly what had tipped him off.

"Your mother has an obvious tan line and indentation on her finger where her ring used to be. Though, she's not wearing it now nor was she wearing it last night; don't worry, I'm not surprised you didn't notice the emotions of the day were clouding your skills of observation. Each time she looks to her hands the corner of her mouth edges up ever so slightly."

"A show of contempt," Molly thought out loud as she nodded; continuing to listen to Sherlock's explanation.

"Exactly. She's conflicted now; she needs a place to stay, but she also doesn't want to get in the way of our relationship. I assume she didn't tell you last night as she was trying to butter you up. Most likely when she walked into the bedroom last night it was to talk to you about the situation," Sherlock expounded.

"She does usually try to _fix __**me **_when things aren't going her way. I should have noticed," Molly hugged herself; this was not going to end well, she could feel it.

"Your mind was taxed with the events of yesterday. Even I was marginally slower… This could become very complicated, Molly," Sherlock stated as he ran a rough hand over his lips, "I can't leave; not now. Not yet."

Molly slapped her hands to her thighs, "and I can't just kick my mother to the side of the road. She's family."

"What does that matter?" Sherlock eyed Molly quizzically.

Her mouth dropped, "Would Mycroft just… No, nevermind. Bad, _very_ bad, example. Generally, though family stand up for one another."

"Is there no one else she can stay with?" Sherlock pleaded.

"My brother is at university. He lives in a two room flat with four other blokes'," Molly shrugged. No other family to speak of, save an uncle in the loony-bin."

"What would it take to get her committed," Sherlock mumbled, "Is she prone to outbursts of rage?"

"Sherlock, really!" Molly reprimanded.

"_Is_ she prone to outbursts?" Sherlock mused.

"I'll find her… something. Soon," Molly answered and silently added, _or I'll be the one that ends up in Asylum_. "I promise."


	8. Somebody Told Me

**Chapter 8**

**A/N: First of all, I want to say thank you to all of the people who have alerted and favorited this story! You don't know what that means to me, and thank you so much to all of my reviewers. I try to respond to each review personally. If I haven't or if you've left an unsigned review, please know I love them all.**

**Also, assume for the purposes of this story that Sherlock removed the ace bandage from the previous night before hopping in the shower and that he didn't have Molly re-wrap it afterwards. It's not broken, just badly bruised; like what you'd get if you've ever knocked your hand hard against anything like the corner of a wall.**

**A/N addendum: Geez talk about self-fulfilling prophecy… So I wrote the A/N above for this chapter then went to get a soda. I was walking down the hall and what do you think I did? Yep! I knocked my **_**left**_** hand **_**really**_** hard against the corner of a wall between my living room and kitchen. Is it weird that I think it's cool that I kind of match my Sherlock now; minus the black eye? Hmmm, hope it stays that way. LOL. I DON'T believe in luck or fate, but I DO believe in my ability to win the biggest klutz of the year award. ;)**

**I will be posting chapter 9: One of the Brightest Stars on Monday.**

**Hrm, that got kind of, **_**really**_**, long, sorry… On with the story!**

******DISCLAIMER: No copyright infringement intended. All recognizable characters belong to the creators of this absolutely amazing show; namely Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.******

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><p>Sherlock and Molly entered the lounge to find Anne tidying up the room. The blanket and pillow now lay neatly over the arm of the sofa. Sherlock went into the kitchen for a second cup of coffee and to peruse the varied and fundamentally false stories of his ignominious demise in the morning paper. Molly sank down into the sofa and took the book she'd been reading off the end table. She opened it to the marker but didn't begin to read.<p>

Anne sunk to the cushion at the other end of the sofa, "I should probably have asked earlier, but what happened to Sean? He looks like he's been in a bar fight."

Molly looked over at her mother. What should she say? Confirm the bar fight? No she doesn't want Anne thinking Sherlock could hurt her. Car Accident? No, he'd likely have a busted leg as well? The truth; edited slightly as Sherlock had done this morning with his apology? What had he told her two nights ago? 'The best lies contain more than a grain of truth', "He tripped over a ledge; knocked his hand into his eye trying to catch himself."

"Really?" Anne quirked a dubious eyebrow at her daughter's explanation.

_Sean_lock answered sounding almost embarrassed, "God's honest truth, Ma'am," kind of.

Anne shook her head, "bit of a klutz are we?"

Molly rolled her eyes, "Not at all, Mum. He was fairly pushed."

_Sean_lock hummed an affirmation and he could be heard rustling the newspaper, presumably turning the page.

"Some people," Anne muttered.

"So, Mum," Molly paused for an extended beat pretending to read, but also trying to see what Sherlock had observed a few minutes prior.

_And…_ There it was the little curl of her lip as she worked the second digit of her ring finger between the tips of her thumb and forefinger. Then Anne swallowed and plastered a smile on her face.

"So… Mum, not that it's not good to see you, but why, exactly, _are_ you here?" Molly asked quietly, "I know it wasn't just to take me shopping."

"Can't a mother just pop in to pay her daughter a visit?" Anne scoffed as she began to fidget; looking around the tiny room. She reflexively smoothed a hand over the body of the folded blanket time and again.

Molly exhaled in a single derisive chuckle, "_Two years_, Mother. Two bloody years! You never just 'Pop In'. Last time you came to visit was when you needed me to testify at Uncle Owens' competency hearing. The time before that was with Mitchell's cancer scare. You only come here when you need something mother. So spill!"

"That's not—" Anne began but the stern expression on Molly's face stopped that thought in its tracks. After a couple deep breaths Anne looked to the floor and quietly stated, "I need… a place to stay for a little while. I… I can't go back home."

"Why not?" Molly persisted when it was obvious Anne wasn't going to continue without prodding.

"I… I just left. Okay?" Anne pleaded with her daughter.

Tears were welling up in the older woman's eyes, but Molly couldn't let her just brush this under the carpet, so to speak, like Anne often did. She needed to protect Sherlock and if there was any way, _any way at all_, to get her to go back to Mitchell then she had to try, "No, it's not okay. What happened? Did he physically harm you somehow?"

Anne shook her head before looking wearily to the kitchen.

"Its okay, Mum, Sh-awn," _Close call_; Molly thought, thankfully Sherlock had chosen an identity with a name that began with the same sound, probably purposefully now that she thought about it. Molly cleared her throat, "won't tell anyone. I'm almost the only person he talks to."

Anne leaned forward and mindless began rearranging the scientific magazines that lay out on Molly's coffee table. Molly stayed Anne's hands with one of her own and caught her mother's gaze. Silently telling her: _Spill it!_

"I… I caught him cheating on me," Anne inhaled shakily as she looked away, "With his assistant—"

"Oh, Mum, I—"

"Roger," Anne finished weakly.

Molly gasped loudly.

Loud coughing could be heard coming from the back of the kitchen. Apparently Sherlock Holmes could still be surprised.

Anne gathered herself quickly and plastered a fake smile before addressing Molly, "Seems like you've passed your bad luck with men on to me, My Dear."

Molly rolled her eyes, and sighed, but didn't respond. This was her mother's usual style of communication. Insult people until you feel better about yourself.

"Well, I, for—" _Sean_lock began to speak.

Molly tensed knowing, or at least she had a pretty good idea of what he was about to say. Warning dripped off the single syllable word, "**Sean…**"

Sherlock cleared his throat then returned to reading a particularly sensational account of both Sherlock literal and figurative fall just hours before.

Molly sighed, "I don't really have a choice in the matter, do I?"

It was Anne's turn to sigh, "Okay, you want me to say it. FINE! .Right. I should have kept my finances separate. He has complete control them. Is that what you want to here?"

Molly did feel bad about what her mother was going through. Thought she'd never seen this coming Molly had warned her mother, more than once, that signing over all of her accounts probably wasn't the best decision. Anne was determined, though. She didn't want to deal with 'trivialities' if she didn't need to.

"At least I was able to screw _him_ over a bit last night. He hadn't frozen the card yet. I almost wish I could be there to see his face when he sees the charges," Anne grinned gleefully, "I didn't tell you, but I had Trish buy _everything_ we tried on last night and donate it to the local charity."

Molly's jaw dropped and she tried not to laugh.

Sherlock strode out of the kitchen and down the hallway, "I'm gonna borrow you laptop, Mol!"

"You—"

"Deerstalker," Sherlock called out before she'd even really begun talking.

Molly shook her head. She needed to change her password. Then again he'd probably figure that one out to.

"So, Molly…?" Anne waited with baited breathe.

"Yes, Mother," Molly's shoulders slumped, "Now I need to go get ready. Sean and I have several engagements to keep."

Anne nodded, "of course, dear. I'll just make myself at home."

"I'm sure you will." Molly mumbled before she entered her bedroom and shut the door.


	9. One Of The Brightest Stars

**Chapter 9**

********A/N: First off, I want to apologize for ALL THE TYPOS last chapter. Geesh! You'd think I hadn't edited it at all. Also, ****************I have up to chapter 12 written at the moment. I am working on chapter 13 now. ****************I'll be posting chapter 10: Monster on Wednesday. ********

****************DISCLAIMER: No copyright infringement intended. All recognizable characters belong to the creators of this absolutely amazing show; namely Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.****

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><p>"Are you sure we have to do this, Sherlock?" Molly whispered after the cab they'd just exited pulled off. Sherlock wrapped his arm around Molly's shoulders and pulled her into his side as they began to walk. She slid her arm around his waist and smiled up at him.<p>

"Much as I am loathe to, yes, it's the only way, Molly," Sherlock spoke into her hairline; to onlookers it would appear to be a soft kiss to her temple, "Off you go to John. We'll meet on the south side of the round pond just after one."

He stood for a few moments with a stupid smile plastered on his face as he watched Molly walk away. As soon as she was out of sight, however, Sean became Sherlock once again; face grimly set as he made his way to his first "appointment".

* * *

><p>Though the door of to the flat stood open Molly knocked softly announcing her presence, "Can I come in, John?"<p>

He was sitting, head resting in his hand, eyes staring into the nether. He said nothing, but Molly clearly saw him incline his head in a feeble nod. Molly stepped inside the room, but stopped short unsure of what to say or do. After a shaky breath she slowly walked over to John and kneeled in front of him.

John seemed not to see her though she was directly in his line of sight. She laid a hand on John's knee and squeezed gently, "Mrs. Hudson let me in."

It was a few seconds before John issued another nod and a hum in reply. God, he looked broken, no more than broken; shattered. Even blinking seemed to be more of a task than John could handle at the moment each one requiring a strenuous breath.

"Have you eaten?" Molly asked softly as she moved her hand to clasp one of his.

John simply shook his head.

"Are you hungry?" A soft squeeze of her hand on his finally had his gaze locking with hers.

"No," John finally spoke. Just one word, but Molly would take what she could get.

There was another long silence. Molly's legs began to cramp from kneeling so she stood and moved herself to the chair across from John.

Just as Molly settled back into the cushions John began to speak, "Why? Why did he do it, Molly?"

"I wish I could tell you," Molly stated honestly as she looked towards the fireplace. Her head was pounding with the desire to lay bare to John everything that had transpired over the last forty-eight hours. Doing that, though, would be signing his death warrant.

"He didn't have to do that! He didn't have to kill himself. Who cares what the rest of the world thought about him? We; Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, me, you… We knew who he really was! All the evidence was circumstantial at best and… We knew!"

"Did we?" Molly's voice broke. It has to be done.

"What?" John exclaimed.

"Did we really…" Molly's voice began to shake as her heart pounded painfully in her chest. Oh, God, she couldn't do this. But she had to, so she gathered her nerve and virtually spat out the question, "Did we really know Sherlock. We want to think we did, but did we?"

John began to shake as anger flashed across his face and into his voice, "You can't be serious!"

Trembling, with tears streaming down her face Molly turned her gaze back on the broken man. She could barely raise her voice above a whisper, "John!"

"Y-You really, believe…" John couldn't finish the thought as a few tears tumbled down his pallid cheeks.

"I-I… I, Oh, God forgive me! I can't!" Molly cried out before jumping from the chair and running out of the flat and into the street. Sherlock wasn't going to be angry, but she couldn't do this to John. She couldn't break him further. Molly hailed a cab and made her way to Kensington Gardens.

* * *

><p>For the first time in Mycroft Holmes thirty-eight years he found himself taken by complete surprise. How had this person managed to pin him to the wall of his car port; one arm twisted painfully at his back with what could only be a hunting knife, judging by the size and sharpness, at his throat.<p>

"Give me one reason that I shouldn't slit your throat open and let you bleed out right here in your own driveway," A deep American voice growled into the diplomat's ear.

Mycroft took a deep breath and with an air of confidence calmly stated, "If you're talking to me, then you're not going to do it anyway, so why don't you just run off now with your tail between your legs and I'll give you a five minute head start before calling Scotland Yard."

The American twisted Mycroft's arm further, and slid the blade slowly along the side of the Englishman's throat. It was enough to draw blood, but do no real damage… yet, "Maybe I just like to play with my food."

"I-I have… information," Mycroft offered, his voice trembling; pleading. Of course it was all an act; if he could just get the upper hand, "I can sway… certain people. Basically I can give you anything that you want."

"I **_want_** my life back!" It was filled with venom, but the voice was unmistakably that of Sherlock Holmes; a dead man. Mycroft spun around as Sherlock loosened his old on the elder Holmes and stepped back.

"You…" Mycroft pressed his hand to the superficial cut on his neck as he took in the altered appearance of his younger brother with wide eyes. For the briefest of moments Sherlock thought Mycroft may actually hug him, but the man simply schooled his features and with an even voice stated, "Quite the show you put on yesterday, brother."

"Yes, The Final Solution: Produced by Mycroft Holmes; Directed by James Moriarty," Sherlock deadpanned.

"I didn't know," Mycroft backpedaled as he drew back his hand and frowned at the blood coloring it.

"Don't give me that tripe," Sherlock spat.

"Why did you do it? Surely it wasn't your pride that was injured, telling you to run away," Mycroft furrowed his brow.

Sherlock smoothed a hand over his forehead and through his hair, "No, it's nothing to do with bad press. John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade. If I hadn't... they'd all be dead right now."

"You _martyred_ yourself to save _three_ people?" Mycroft leveled a wary gaze on his brother.

"My friends, Mycroft," Sherlock corrected.

"Caring is _not _an advantage, Sherlock," Mycroft echoed his statement from a few months prior.

Sherlock ignored his brother's comment, "This will give me time to ferret out the assassin's he had, still has, trained on them. That's where you come in, brother."

* * *

><p>John sat staring at the door that Molly had run out of just over an hour earlier. Once the anger at her implications had subsided John began to feel guilty. She was obviously just as angry and confused as he was and he was fairly certain she didn't believe a word she'd said herself. She was trying to cope just as he was and he'd bit her head off for it.<p>

The poor girl had been head over heels in love with a man who would likely never return her feelings and now he never could. John knew he had to apologize. He'd just lost his best friend; he wasn't about to alienate another.

Thirty minutes later John stood at the door of Molly's flat. He took a few cleansing breathes then rang the door bell.

A moment later a petite woman who looked to be in her late fifties opened the door.

"Oh, uhm, I'm sorry," John checked the address again; he was certain that Molly lived alone. It was the right address, "Is… uh, is Molly Hooper here? My name's John Watson. I'm a friend."

A look of recognition fell over her face. For a second John wondered if he should know her. She did look vaguely familiar. Her next words gave John his answer.

"Oh, yes, John, Hello! I'm Molly's mother, Anne. She's mentioned you. So, sorry to hear about your friend. Unfortunately, I'm afraid you've missed them. She popped out for the day with Sean a few hours ago," Anne apologized.

"Sean?" Molly had been by herself when she'd visited him not quite two hours ago.

Anne hummed in verification, "Molly's boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" John stepped back in shock, "I didn't know she'd been seeing anyone."

"I'm glad to see I'm not the only one she didn't tell. He's a lovely man, tall, skin like alabaster, cheekbones of a Greek god," An odd sense of hope began to bubble up in John's chest at the description. He also couldn't figure out why Molly would hide a relationship from anyone, save Sherlock; he'd inevitably deduce the relationship to death, "Makes it almost possible for me to forgive the fact that he's American."

"American?" Okay, maybe not Sherlock, though the man could do an amazingly accurate American accent. He'd used it once before while working a case in which certain US dignitaries were being targeted. But why would he…?

Anne growled, "Unfortunately so, but he seems to love my Molly dearly, so who am I to stand in the way."

Okay probably not. Sherlock didn't even know what love was so how could he approximate it?

"Any idea when they'll be back?" But John had to see this mysterious boyfriend; just to be sure.

"Mmm, sorry, Love, no. But I'll let her know you called," Anne patted John on the arm.

"Thanks," John nodded, "bye, then."

"'Course," Anne replied with a light smile before she closed the door.

In his rational mind John knew Sherlock Holmes was dead; he'd seen him fall, the gore spread over the side walk, and his lifeless eyes. However, John couldn't squelch the tiny tendrils of hope expanding through his chest.


	10. Monster

**Chapter 10**

**A/N: This took me far too long to write, but I'm mostly happy with it now. I will _**probably**_ post Chapter 11: Even In Death on Friday, but this is the first time I haven't been three chapters ahead before posting and it's scaring me a bit. The mixture of having never written a mystery before and getting some unexpected, albeit, _VERY_good news has put me behind schedule, sorry.**

**DISCLAIMER: No copyright infringement intended. All recognizable characters belong to the creators of this absolutely amazing show; namely Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.**

* * *

><p>At ten past one in the afternoon Sherlock was almost at their designated meeting place near the pond. He was feeling tense, as Sherlock always did after an encounter with Mycroft, and he was anxious to hear news of John. It surprised Sherlock just how anxious.<p>

Maybe Sherlock had been wrong about the hallucinogenic gas they had been exposed to in Dartmoor. That night seemed to draw his attention to a long forgotten door in his psyche that Sherlock had long ago tried to brick up with logic and knowledge.

Those two attributes had been of greater import than all else in the Holmes house as a child; displays of emotion censured. As a child it had been difficult; he'd inherited a shocking level of creativity and romanticism from his maternal grandmother. It was only suppressed with years of external and self-discipline, and for a very long time Sherlock wholeheartedly believed he'd rid himself completely of the ability to feel anything but boredom or excitement. He didn't care; he no longer could.

Then along came John, he'd once said that John was a conductor of light, and so he was. Only this time that light shown not on genius, but on cracks in the brick wall of knowledge and logic that covered the door to Sherlock's emotional self.

Irene Adler had masterfully chipped away at some of the mortar with her flirting and overt sexuality allowing some bricks to loosen. In contrast, Molly's enduring tolerance and quiet admiration was beginning to erode some of the bricks themselves. Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade had cleaned up the mess; showed him just how much damage was being done to the wall. This wasn't damage that could be easily repaired. The wall would need to be completely stripped to be replaced.

And Moriarty. He'd known exactly where to push, and some of the bricks fell away, turning Sherlock's world on its head.

Sherlock attempted to set aside these thoughts as quickly greeted Molly and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. He handed her a take-away container from her favorite Thai restaurant and sat down.

"Ta," Molly remarked softly. Trying to keep her voice stable, but she felt as though Sherlock lips had branded her cheek... again.

"'Course, Mol," _Sean_lock replied with a smile; it didn't reach his eyes, "How was John?"

"Broken," Molly replied as she poked at a piece of shrimp before coiling a mass of rice noodles around her flimsy plastic fork, "he's aged so much in one day. I could barely get him to talk to me, and when he finally did it was to yell at me for doubting you."

Sherlock felt a tightening in his chest. Something he could only remember feeling once before; last Christmas: guilt.

"I _know_ it was important, and I tried, but he was already so… and I just… I couldn't convince him that... that I thought you the villain. I'm sorry!" A tear made a slow descent down Molly's cheek as she turned to look out over the pond.

There was a long pause. After a moment Sherlock set his take-away container to the side and shifted a bit more toward the dejected woman. As he took her hands in his Sherlock dropped his voice to a whisper, "I never expected that you'd be able to convince him with one try, Molly. He's a stubborn git. However, if enough of my… friends… express doubt, well, the seed has been planted."

A look mixed of relief, confusion, and sadness washed over Molly's face as she sighed.

"C'mon, Honey, let's finish our lunch. _They_ should be delivering my things in about an hour, and I don't trust your Mom not to snoop," _Sean_lock flashed a small smile at Molly before feathering a soft kiss on her hand.

_Oh, this would be her undoing._

* * *

><p>By the time Molly and Sherlock returned to the flat at a quarter past two <em>Sean<em>'s things had been delivered and, as Sherlock had suspected, Anne was snooping.

Caught red handed she stood, a blush rising up the older woman's cheeks, "This… um, this one was opened. Careless… careless movers."

"Yes, mother, of course, the movers," Molly rolled her eyes then looked to Sherlock. Molly expected Sherlock to level a round of insolent remarks on Anne, and she wouldn't have blamed or reprimanded him. However, Sherlock showed amazing restraint merely squaring his shoulders a bit and setting his jaw.

_Sean_lock walked over to the half open box. Thankfully it was just a box of clothing similar in style to what he was wearing now, "Took Michael long enough to send my things. I've been wearing the same three outfits for weeks now."

"Michael?" Anne queried. She hoped changing the subject would take their mind off of her probing, but really, how else was she supposed to get to know this mysterious man that had apparently been dating her daughter for some time.

"My brother," _Sean_lock clarified.

"You have a brother?" Anne asked trying to draw the man out.

Sherlock turned a look on Anne that Molly had seen often. He wouldn't be able to suffer Anne for much more of the afternoon. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but Molly caught his hand and interrupted what was sure to be a dissecting of her limited intelligence.

"Aren't you supposed to meet Regina and Lynda for tea, Mum?" Molly could feel Sherlock staring at her, but just squeezed his hand harder; a silent plea for him to behave, "Maybe you should leave now. It's supposed to rain. I wouldn't want you to catch cold waiting for a cab."

Anne began to protest, "We're meeting at a quarter to."

"And by the time set foot out the door it will be half-past," Molly urged.

Anne heaved a small sigh, "Oh, Molly, before I forget your friend, what was his name… John… Yes, he stopped by while you were away. It was nice to know that at least I'm not the only one you've been keeping secrets from."

* * *

><p>"Why… why would John come here?" Molly asked a tad breathlessly as she made room to hang more items of Sherlock's new trousseaux in her wardrobe. The action struck her as both incredibly domestic and utterly surreal.<p>

"To apologize," Sherlock replied casually.

Molly raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.

The detective smiled as he opened a long black case. It was the one indulgence Sherlock and his brother shared. A love of classical music, "You said he raised his voice. John never raises his voice to a woman."

Molly watched as Sherlock carefully liberated the instrument and bow from the blue velvet. He tuned the strings quickly and played a few bars of Bach's Partita No. 2. Shrugging he put the instrument aside, "it will suffice."

"She told him about you," Molly's brow furrowed, "He may suspect."

Sherlock nodded, "undoubtedly, but he's mildly logical. I'm sure he's explaining away that little nagging feeling at the center of his chest as part of the grieving process. He's bound to see me everywhere for a while."

Molly sighed as she folded a pair of distressed jeans, "Just make sure he doesn't _actually_ see you."

* * *

><p><strong>End Note: If any of you are interested, the titles of each chapter are a song title. I pick it for a portion of the lyrics that I feel fit the chapter. I'm posting and will update those songs on my profile. <strong>

**Thanks!**

**Tessa**


	11. Even In Death

**Chapter 11**

**A/N: This was originally going to be two separate chapters, but I would have felt guilty giving you so little original work so I condensed it into one. I will be posting Chapter 12: Maybe I'm Amazed on Tuesday. **

****DISCLAIMER: No copyright infringement intended. All recognizable characters belong to the creators of this absolutely amazing show; namely Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.****

* * *

><p>The cab had finally made its way through the throng of reporters, photographers, and television news journalists that were huddled in the cold and rain outside the gates of the London cemetery. Mycroft had done as promised and kept them from the gravesite. For that at least, John was grateful. However as he and Mrs. Hudson walked slowly towards the burial plot John's gratitude turned quickly to sadness. The site was nestled under a large pine far off from all the other markers. And at this point that's all it was; a marker.<p>

Mycroft had insisted his brother be cremated. He feared with how ignominiously his brother had died that there would be those just crazy enough, fanatics or self proclaimed adversaries, to dig up the deceased detectives body and do god only knows what with/to it. With utmost sincerity Mycroft had explained to John that, though rarely reported in the media, such things happened more often than one would like to think. He had however agreed to allow his brother's _ashes_ to be buried.

When John and Mrs. Hudson had arrived they were alone though it was obvious someone had been there; most likely it had been Molly. A small bouquet of red roses with a single yellow calla lily sat at the base of the marker. John smiled briefly at the offering; a symbol of love, resurrection, and rebirth. Oh, God if only…

Mrs. Hudson gently placed her arrangement beside the smaller vase.

They waited in relative silence for a few minutes, but John knew no one else would come. Finally, he nodded to the attendant and the ashes of his best friend were lowered into the ground and covered over with soft earth.

"I'm sorry for your loss," the attendant mumbled as he walked away and left John and Mrs. Hudson to mourn in relative peace.

The two remaining occupants of 221B bowed their heads in silence for a few moments. Mrs. Hudson though could only remain quiet for so long.

"There's all this stuff; all this science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don't know what needs doing," The elderly woman sighed, "I thought I'd take it to a school. Would you…?"

John shook his head, "I can't go back to the flat… again; not at the moment."

Mrs. Hudson said nothing, but held onto John just a bit tighter.

"I'm angry," John sighed deeply.

"Its okay, John," Mrs. Hudson replied as she squeezed his arm reassuringly, "There's nothing unusual in that. That's the way he made everyone feel. All the marks on my table and the noise; firing guns at half past one in the morning."

"Yeah."

"Bloody specimens in my fridge… Imagine! Keeping bodies where there's food!" Mrs. Hudson's quiet rant began to pick up intensity, "And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings on…"

Mrs. Hudson's voice broke and John took the opportunity, "Listen, I… I'm not actually that angry… Okay?"

The woman gathered herself together a bit, "Okay… I'll just leave you alone to, uh… You know."

John waited until Mrs. Hudson was a respectable distance away before he tried to voice his thoughts. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his head. It wouldn't do for anyone, well, Mrs. Hudson, to see him breakdown completely.

"You… you told me once that you weren't a hero. Um… There were times that I didn't even think you were human," John's throat clenched tightly as a memory surfaced.

"_Will caring about them help save them?" _

"_Nope!"_

"_Then I will continue not to make that mistake," _But he had cared, in some fashion. The look that had fallen over Sherlock's face when the bomb attached to the elderly woman was activated had said it all.

"But lemme tell you this… You were the best man, uh, the most human… human being that I have ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so… there," John swallowed the tears that threatened to fall. He thought he heard a soft sniffle to his right, but when he turned no one was near him. Despite knowing he was alone he walked closer to the head stone and rested his hand on it; cold granite a poor substitute for warm flesh. Softly, John continued, "I was… so alone, and I owe you so much."

He turned quickly and began to walk away, but the thought of Molly's mysterious and until recently unknown boyfriend haunted him and he had to ask; knew it was futile, but still **had** to ask.

"Please just one more thing… one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't be… dead," John begged, "Would you do that just for me. Just stop it! Stop this."

* * *

><p>"Don't be… dead."<p>

"Oh, God, oh Sherlock, I… I can't," Molly whispered into Sherlock's shoulder as she tried to hide the tears streaming down her face.

He squeezed the hand she'd placed in his during Mrs. Hudson's minor outburst then nodded.

Molly hurried away and left Sherlock there, under the ash tree, to silently look on the end of his own small funeral.

A pang of guilt pulled at Sherlock's heart as John begged for him to return. In time he would, but all he could do for now was watch the only man he had considered a friend turn and walk away; little hope of being happy again for a very long time.

Sherlock stood in silence as he watched his friend's woeful retreat. Once John was gone and Sherlock was sure that none of the assassin's had been present at the funeral he turned and made his way to Molly. She stood twenty meters away, leaning against the trunk of a large oak tree. With a tissue Molly wiped her red-rimmed eyes then blew her nose lightly.

"You didn't have to come," Sherlock stated.

"Even you can't see everything at once, Sherlock. More eyes, the more likely we would have been to see them if they'd been here," Molly replied softly.

"No, you wanted to be here for your friends," a ghost of a smile fell over Sherlock's lips.

"That too," Molly smiled up at the detective, "I understand completely why I couldn't be there, but I just…"

"Molly," Sherlock sighed. She didn't need to explain herself. He knew Molly well enough to understand her need even if he didn't feel it himself. Add to that the fact he really didn't want to listen to her ramblings at the moment.

"Sorry," Molly mumbled.

"Don't apologize, just stop talking," Sherlock replied in annoyance.

Molly drew in a deep breath as she pulled her coat tighter about her waist then marched away.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. John would never be this sensitive. Living with a woman, let alone two women, was more difficult than Sherlock could ever have imagined.

He'd been doing his best to avoid encounters with Anne, or to speak with her only when Molly was there. When Anne would make some inane or inappropriate comment Molly would take his hand or lay one of her own on his shoulder and it would calm him enough for Molly to take control of the situation.

Sherlock found it both intriguing and distressing that such a small gesture could have that kind of effect, especially on him. Was he lost somewhere now between Sherlock Holmes and Sean Harper?

He disliked Sean greatly. It almost physically hurt to constantly have to act so sentimental; to think of others before himself. It was so very foreign. Without Anne here he'd have _some_ respite, but unfortunately she would not be leaving anytime soon.

Sherlock sighed. He just wanted a moment to himself as himself, but he also knew if he didn't follow Molly now and attempt some semblance of an apology it would be worse for him in the long run.

She was headed toward the nearby chapel. He called out and chased after her, "Molly!"

She faltered a second but didn't stop. Sherlock quickened his pace and was nearly to her when he saw a familiar face exiting the chapel: Kitty Riley.

Sherlock's heart pounded painfully in his chest. She would surely recognize him and she was headed his way. There was only one thing he could think to do. Sherlock reached out finding Molly's hand and tugged hard. As Molly stumbled into his arms Sherlock caught her gaze momentarily. His voice was thick and gravelly as he spoke with Sean's tone, "I'm sorry."

Molly was paralyzed as Sherlock quickly closed the remaining distance between them. Instinctively Molly's eyes closed and all she could feel was his lips softly ghosting across hers at first. However, as Molly found use of her hands again she brought them to fist into the soft leather of Sherlock's jacket and the kiss took on a greater intensity. Sherlock's thumb swept along her jaw as his fingers became entangled in her hair.

Molly heard a derogatory snort from somewhere off to her left, but she couldn't bring herself to care as she sighed into the kiss. With more boldness than she ever thought she could muster Molly slowly worked her tongue along Sherlock's bottom lip.

It was his turn to stand paralyzed as she slowly deepened the kiss relishing in his taste; coffee and chocolate and something she couldn't place but categorized as _him_.

As they stumbled into a large grave marker the kiss broke. Molly whimpered slightly then laid her head against Sherlock's heaving chest. She could hear his heart hammering rapidly and it made her smile. She'd done that to him.

However, she quickly realized who she had just kissed and knew there had to be some other motive. She tried not to look sad as she stepped back and followed the direction of Sherlock's gaze. It was tracking a tallish woman with ginger hair. She wore a gray pant-suit and was carrying a briefcase.

"Kitty," Sherlock answered Molly's unasked question.

Realization suddenly hit Molly, "Kitty Riley, The woman who basically put you here?"

Sherlock nodded.

"She'd have recognized you in an instant," Molly stated Sherlock's previous thought.

Sherlock nodded again as he finally brought his eyes to meet Molly's. After a moment's pause he frowned and sincerely stated, "I'm sorry."

Any residual hurt at the thought of him using her melted away. Molly smiled softly and tapped his chest as she stepped out of his grasp, "No harm done."

Sherlock's expression turned thoughtful and she knew if she let him he'd stand in this spot for the rest of the day; thinking.

Molly sighed as she slipped her hand into his and pulled gently, "Come on, _hot lips_, let's get you home."


	12. Maybe I'm Amazed

**Chapter 12**

**A/N: This is, by far, my longest chapter! I hope you enjoy it. **

**Hopefully, it will make up for having to take a bit of time off. I've been**_** REALLY **_**sick this past week, so I haven't had the time or energy to write at all. I'll will have Chapter 13: Hope For The Hopeless up**_** BY next Tuesday, but I'm hoping much earlier. However, at this point I can't promise anything more. I will try to get back on track with my M-W-F posts ASAP.**_

**Also, I'd like to thank everyone for their Alerts, Favorites, and Reviews. I'm sorry if you've left me a review and I haven't replied yet. And thanks, Heartgrater, for the fic rec. :)**

**DISCLAIMER: No copyright infringement intended. All recognizable characters belong to the creators of this absolutely amazing show; namely Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.**

* * *

><p>A few blocks before they reached her flat Molly had the cabby stop and let her out. Sherlock and Molly had left together, but supposedly for different destinations. It would look weird for them to return together. She made her way to a nearby café, ordered a cup of tea and waited for about twenty minutes then headed home.<p>

As she entered the flat Molly could hear Anne muttering on in the kitchen. She was asking question after question about the supposed book _Sean_ was writing. Molly recognized the "story" as one of the first cases Sherlock had ever worked with John; the one with the woman with all the spots.

The look on Sherlock's face as he caught her eye made her bite her lip. He was begging to be saved. She nodded, and then sighed loudly, drawing her mother's attention.

"Well that took forever!" Anne blustered.

"I stayed after for a little bit," Molly replied softly.

Anne leaned in and concern flooded her voice, "I can't believe you even went, Molly."

"What?' Molly asked confused.

"You really want to attach your name to such a… such a…" Anne searched for the right word.

"A fiend," Seanlock proffered derisively.

"Yes! Exactly!" Anne slapped her hands down on her thighs as she smiled up at Sherlock.

"What?" Molly's gaze teetered back and forth between Anne and Sean.

"Come on Molly. It's all over the papers," _Sean_lock stated as he came in and handed her a cup of tea.

Molly immediately placed the tea on the coffee table too shaken by Sherlock supporting Anne in this to risk drinking the hot liquid.

"Damn the papers!" Molly glared at the man before her.

Anne looked to Sherlock and sighed almost casually, "And the evidence is irrefutable."

"DAMN THE _EVIDENCE_!" Molly shouted, "Neither of you even knew him. I knew him, I loved him; was in love with him, and he was the best man I've ever known!"

Before either Anne or Sherlock could say another word Molly had entered her bedroom and slammed the door. Anne looked over to the man before her; poor thing looked stricken.

And that adjective wasn't far off from what Sherlock felt. Every intonation, every word of Molly's had been absolute truth. Her body language, her expression had left no room for doubt.

It threw Sherlock that anyone could be _in love_ with him. Sure, she had a crush on him, but many women had; they were drawn to the mysterious. But… in love… with him? Why?

Molly had indeed become a friend to him, but he always used her and she always knew it. _How_ could she be in love with him? It didn't make sense.

Anne was blabbering on as Sherlock stood, he had to talk to Molly; had to convince her she was wrong.

As Sherlock closed the bedroom door behind him Molly leveled a hard glare on him, "How could you? You're su… or Sean is _supposed_ to be in love with me. How… how could you side with my mother? Didn't you tell her just yesterday that we met because you'd been researching him? Or Sherlock, uh, you… god this is confusing…"

"And should my research have showed anything different? Kitty has my _whole_ life story. Sean would only have what he could have gotten from you and few other less than adequate sources," Sherlock countered, "Supporting someone I'm not supposed to have known against what seems to be irrefutable proof? That makes about as much sense as you claiming to be in love with me."

Molly frowned sadly as he came to her side of the bed and sat down; facing her, "Claiming? Sherlock…"

"Molly, you don't. You can't. It doesn't make sense," Sherlock persuaded.

Molly smiled resignedly, "Love rarely does."

"Molly," Sherlock sighed as he rubbed at his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, "This won't help either of us."

"It can't _be_ helped," Molly shook her head, "How can you be _so_ extraordinarily intelligent, but not be able to understand such a basic emotion?"

"You know I've distanced myself—," Sherlock started, but Molly cut him off.

"Yes distanced, but not extricated," Molly replied, "No matter what you tell people, you're not a sociopath; high functioning or otherwise. If anything you're Spock."

"What does a so-called child rearing expert have to do with this?" Sherlock furrowed his brow in utter confusion.

"Not Doctor; Mister. You know: Star Trek," Molly sighed, "Oh never mind. That's not the point."

"What _is_ the point?" Sherlock prodded knowing she'd tell him whether he asked or not.

"That I _do_ love you and I always will," Molly shook her head as Sherlock sighed. She took his hand in hers then and held his gaze, "and no amount of persuasion from you or anyone else is going to change that."

"I can't…" Sherlock sighed, "I never will."

"I know," Molly replied, "I came to terms with that a long time ago. I'm happy just to be your friend."

"You are," Sherlock stated plainly.

"That's all I want," Molly stated as she squeezed his hand lightly.

"That's a lie," Sherlock chuckled.

"Yes… yes it is, but I'll take what I can get," Molly smiled.

They sat silent for a long moment before Molly decided to change the subject to a more pressing matter.

"So, um, Kitty… Do you… do you think that she just somehow sneaked past the gates or do you think she has something to do with this?" Molly wondered as a frown pulled down at her lips.

Sherlock shook his head, "I don't know yet. It could be coincidence; but she is… wily."

Molly nodded, "Well, she was probably just waiting for some scuffle that never happened because the reporters weren't allowed in."

"Perhaps," Sherlock responded, but that thoughtful look was plastered on his face again. "But I see now we'll have to be more careful, if she'd seen me, if she'd seen _us_. This is dangerous, Molly. I fear I may have put you in the cross hairs."

Molly sighed and laid her other hand on Sherlock's knee, "If she'd recognized you wouldn't she have confronted you regardless of what you were doing?"

Sherlock scoffed, "Possibly. Maybe I should go. Make use of the homeless network."

"What? No, Sherlock… They may do favors for you for money, but without that… You can't be sure they're loyal… You. No! It's not safe."

"It would be safer for you," Sherlock replied honestly as he squeezed the hand she still held.

"No," Molly shook her head adamantly, "No."

"Molly..." Sherlock sighed.

"NO!" Molly glared her eyes took on a fire Sherlock hadn't seen before.

"Everything okay in there?" Anne's voice filtered through the door startling Molly, but Sherlock remained calm. He could tell she was still in the living room; she had been the entire time, but Molly's minor outburst had incited her curiosity.

"We're fine," _Sean_lock responded with a sideways glance to the door.

"You sure?" Anne called out. Sherlock could hear her heading towards the door.

Sherlock stood as he whispered, "She's coming act like you don't want me to go."

"I don't!" Molly whispered adamantly back. She knew he'd understand the double meaning.

"Then don't let me," Sherlock smiled.

Molly briefly wondered if his answer contained the same duality as she tugged on his arm with all her might. Her strength surprised him and Sherlock let out a quiet gasp as he landed on top of Molly.

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head at Molly's flirtatious smile, but had no time to right himself as the door swung open.

"MUM!" Molly managed to sound incredibly surprised for not being surprised at all, "You could at least knock, or well, you know, not come in at all!"

"God, first thing tomorrow we're calling your landlord and having him put a lock on this door," _Sean_lock grumbled/whispered, but made sure it was loud enough for Anne to hear. Then he rolled to Molly's side and sat up, leaning against her headboard.

"I thought he might be hurting you. I mean you did just admit to not being in love with him," Anne replied.

"No," _Sean_lock corrected, "she admitted to being in love with another man, but you can love more than one person at a time. Plus… he's dead."

Molly grimaced with the last statement.

"You're _seriously_ okay with the fact that her feelings are obviously not as deep as yours?" Anne was dumbfounded.

"I'll take what I can get," Sherlock smiled lightly down at Molly as he echoed her words.

Molly swallowed and bit back a smile; she averted both sets of eyes on her.

Anne shook her head then addressed her daughter, "Don't you _dare_ let this one go! I can't think of another man _or woman_ who would be willing to look past such an open declaration of love for someone else. Sean, you are _too_ perfect. She doesn't deserve you. You ungrateful little cheating…"

"Anne!" _Sean_lock shouted as he stood. The past week spent with her; listening to her inane remarks. Dealing with her impropriety; having no semblance of privacy had finally become too much.

Molly looked truly hurt at her mother's words. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Anne was still talking, still insulting, her daughter as Molly swallowed hard and sat up.

The sadness and tired resignation in the young woman's eyes had Sherlock protective side flaring to life. He'd almost killed a man for threatening Mrs. Hudson once. He couldn't, as he'd done to the man, defenestrate Molly's mother… this time, but he was not about to sit idly by and watch Anne level such abuse upon her own daughter.

This small timid young woman may very well be risking her life to protect him. Molly deserved so much. And though Sherlock couldn't give her what she wanted, his love, he could least defend her.

"You have absolutely _no_ idea what your daughter deserves. Molly would give her _life_ to help a friend. She would do _anything _to keep her friends safe, but you wouldn't know that because you never see her! You _rarely_ talk to her and you only come to her when you need something. And she _never_ turns you away, so don't you **dare**try to state what Molly does and doesn't deserve. I've probably come to know Molly better in the short time that I _have_ known her than you ever will. Now get out! Get out! Get out of the apartment for the afternoon and just leave us alone!" _Sean_lock finished his tirade sharp huff.

Anne spluttered and looked angry. Sherlock withdrew his wallet and pulled out fifty quid (courtesy of Mycroft), "just take the money and go! I don't care what you do. Just go! Leave! For the afternoon."

Anne eyed the money suspiciously. Finally Sherlock stalked over and pressed it into her hand. The woman simply turned and walked out of the room and out of the flat.

Sherlock brought his hands together at his mouth for a moment and drew a deep breath before turning around. Molly was staring at Sherlock eyes wide, mouth agape, and he was certain he was either about to get cried on or reamed. But the sound that escaped Molly's mouth was anything but sad or angry.

Giggling; she was… giggling?

"Molly?" the uncertainty in Sherlock's voice just made her laugh harder.

He turned in a circle and ran his fingers through his short hair.

"Oh, my god!" Molly got out between laughs, "I can't believe you lasted_that_long! Oh, my god, Sherlock!"

Another burst of laughter filled the room.

Sherlock smiled at Molly though still confused.

"You are the only man, other than my father, that has _ever_ been able to put my mother in her place!" Molly admitted, "And really I am proud of you for tolerating her as long as you did, but now maybe that she knows you've got some backbone she won't be as chafing."

"That's not at all likely," Sherlock stated.

"No, it's not." Molly stood and walked the few paces too Sherlock.

Sherlock was far happier than he should have been to know that Molly wasn't angry with him. He smiled as she laid her small hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you," Molly whispered as she leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's cheek.

"My, um, pleasure," Sherlock shook his head. He would never understand this woman.

"Come on," Molly slipped her hand into Sherlock's, "We deserve to celebrate our afternoon alone. I hid the microscope under the kitchen sink. Why don't I pull it out? I snuck out a sample of a truly grotesque nail fungus from the lab last night..."


	13. Hope For The Hopeless

**Chapter 13**

**Hope For The Hopeless**

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><p><strong>AN: With the morning sickness and exhaustion on top of having some family in town, AND our anniversary this week, plus the fact that Mass Effect 3 comes out today (it's my hubby's anniversary present to me =D ) it's probably going to be another week before I can have chapter 14 up. Again, I'd like to thank everyone for their Alerts, Favorites, and Reviews. I'm sorry if you've left me a review and I haven't replied yet.**

**Lots of Love!**

**-T**

**DISCLAIMER: No copyright infringement intended. All recognizable characters belong to the creators of this absolutely amazing show; namely Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.**

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><p>John stopped in the doorway and took in the sight before him. The walls were covered, nearly floor to ceiling, with brightly colored construction paper. About half of the papers were drawings, others held macaroni sculptures, and still others were covered with water color paintings. The vibrancy of this art seemed a stark contrast to the dark subject to be discussed tonight. Maybe it was coincidental; maybe not.<p>

After a few moments of lingering in the door way a young woman with sandy blonde hair and the violet eyes stepped up to him. John found himself searching her irises for the tell-tale sign of contacts— thank you, Sherlock— but found none; the color was genuine.

"Hi," the violet eyed woman smiled in greeting as she extended her hand, "the name's Mary. Welcome to Survivor's Support Group."

"John," The doctor replied by way of greeting as he shook her hand. It caused the sleeve of her sweater fell back a little revealing the tell-tale scars of an attempted suicide, "I, uh, maybe I'm…"

"You're in the right place, John, I assure you," Mary stated with a reassuring smile.

"Right," John nodded, suddenly feeling incredibly uncomfortable.

"There's coffee, tea, and a few refreshments in the back if you like. And please make sure to fill out a name tag," the violet eyed Mary stated as she turned to greet the next new comer.

"Thank you; I will." John responded and turned towards the back of the room. He still felt out of place, but something about this young woman put him at ease.

He wasn't at all surprised twelve minutes later, once all the mourning were seated, that it was Mary who stood up as Counselor. He listened intently as she told the story of how she'd lost her mother and father in a fatal car crash involving a drunk driver. Then she'd lost her sister twice, first, to drugs and alcohol, then again and finally, to suicide. She referred to the time as "The Year of Hell".

"I didn't know of groups like this when I was grieving. It wasn't until I did this," Mary pulled up the sleeves of her sweater and revealed the long healed scars, "and wound up in therapy that I was directed here."

Mary paused and caught John's eye, "Nothing lessened the pain of the loss, but one day… One day I found that I could remember a happy time with Claudia and it didn't make me cry. Soon, I noticed I could look on a picture of her and didn't feel like I'd been stabbed in the chest. Then, one day I found myself looking back on a memory of her and me together and smiling; happy. Not happy that she was gone, or happy about what she'd did, but happy that I had that memory."

Soon her story was followed by the sad stories of other's in the room; all at varying stages of grief. Some nearly screamed out their anger while other sat back in quite acceptance. A few, though, including John, sat back in near catatonia; the grief still too raw to be shown.

Finally the group was coming to an end and Mary asked John to tell them why he was there.

He just blinked at Mary a few times. She prodded him to speak again, "John?"

"I just… I can't believe he's dead. I-I saw him jump, watched him fall; saw," John swallowed the bile rising up in his throat at the memory, "Saw him lying there bl-dead, but I ca… I feel… I don't know."

"You saw him?" Mary asked softly.

John nodded, "Was on the phone with him; talking to him. He… he said it was his letter." Despite fighting them back a few heavy tears escaped John's eyes.

Somewhere to his right a mother who'd lost her son sobbed, "He asked me to tell everyone I ever met what a fraud he was. How he'd duped… _everybody_. Thing is I can't. That would be a lie; he wasn't; he didn't, and I won't!"

"Sherlock Holmes?" Mary asked quietly. John simply nodded in response. He could feel the stares of all the other grievers on him, though none said anything he could sense the feeling of betrayal they emitted.

Soon the group wrapped up and John was making a hasty retreat when he felt a tug on the sleeve of his Jacket.

Mary smiled sadly as he turned around, "John?"

He brought his eyes to meet Mary's. Now they looked more periwinkle than violet. He wondered what that meant. She handed him a business card.

"I don't know that a group session would necessarily be the best for you under the circumstances, but if you ever feel like talking. I'm here. We could meet for coffee or something," Mary smiled softly.

John raised an eyebrow, "Um, okay, thanks."

"I'm not a therapist, chances are you've got one anyway, but I know what it's like to believe in someone when no one else will. Call me, okay?"

"Yeah," John nodded and was out the door.

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><p>Molly burst in the door of her flat and found Sherlock standing on one of her dining chairs in the corner of the living room studying a spider making, cocooning itself; readying itself to lay eggs.<p>

"Get into the bedroom, Sherlock!" Molly ordered, then, with more force cried out, "Now!"

Sherlock turned a wary eye on her, "Just what…"

"Mrs. Hudson is on her way up, Sherlock. Despite your disguise she'll recognize you!" Molly cut him off as she pulled him down of the chair and pushed him towards the bedroom.

Despite feeling like a reprimanded child Sherlock obeyed and secreted himself away; not a moment too soon.

A soft knock echoed through the flat as Molly tried to calm her frayed nerves. Molly waited for a second knock before opening the door.

"Mrs. Hudson, hello!" Molly smiled brightly. Despite having to hide Sherlock and cringing at the thought of the spider in the corner of her living room that she'd have to have Anne kill later— Molly certainly wasn't going to do it— it was good to see Mrs. Hudson again.

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Hudson gave the young woman a sad smile and hugged her fiercely, "I hope you're doing well."

"I'm coping," Molly stated truthfully. She _was_ coping with having to hide Sherlock and at striking out for the past three weeks in trying to find her mother a place to live. She had however found Anne a job in a flower shop a few blocks away, so that kept her out of the house for a few hours each day.

"I, um, I was in the area. I'm not intruding, am I?" the older woman looked around nervously.

"No, no, of course not," Molly smiled, "How are you doing?"

"It's… It's too quiet boring. John hasn't come home," Mrs. Hudson answered as she let Molly lead her to the sofa.

"I'm sorry," Molly sighed.

"Oh, it's not your fault dear," Actually it partially was.

"Still… Can I… uh, would you care for a cuppa?" Molly asked as she oriented herself towards the kitchen.

"Oh, no, dear, Thank you," Mrs. Hudson waved her hand lazily, "Just came from tea with my friend Sylvia. Just wanted to pop in and check on you."

Molly turned to the couch and sat down. Just as she sat the electricity cut out; Molly rolled her eyes, "damn wiring. Give it a minute it'll come back on?"

"Problems with the wiring? Have you notified the landlord?" Mrs. Hudson shook her head.

"No landlord. I own the flat," Molly sighed, "purchased it outright with a portion of the inheritance I received when my father died."

"Oh, well, good, um, you know what I mean," Mrs. Hudson flustered.

"Yes," Molly smiled, but it slowly turned to a frown when the lights didn't come back on, "Doesn't usually stay off this long."

"You know someone referred me to an absolutely fantastic handy-man a few weeks back. I think I have his number on me if you'd like it," the older woman offered as she reached for her purse.

Molly sighed with a nod, "Definitely. I'll scrounge up the money somehow."

Mrs. Hudson paged through her contacts, and dialed the number before handing the phone to Molly.

After a moment Molly shook her head, "The number's been disconnected."

"What?" Mrs. Hudson took back the phone and manually dialed. She got the same recording.

"Well, that's too bad. He was a terribly good, very polite handy man," Mrs. Hudson lamented.

"It's alright Mrs. Hudson," Molly shook her head. The lights finally came back on, "Well, at least I've got a little time to find someone to fix the wiring."

There was a sudden draft from down the hall. Apparently, Sherlock had left via her bedroom window.

"And that draft," Mrs. Hudson shivered.

Molly's mobile chimed in her pocket.

_Gone to check on a hunch. Stall her. –SH_

"So, Mrs. Hudson—"

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><p><strong>End Note: Sorry there wasn't much, or any, Sherlolly in this chapter. I'm hoping that chapter 14 will make up for it (I'm undecided if about the placement of my next idea), but you'll definitely get more Sherlolly by chapter 15.<strong>

**Thanks a bunch!**

**Tessa**


	14. Down

**Chapter 14**

**Down**

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><p><strong>AN: ****I'm baaaaack! Sorry it's been so long. Baby-brain = **_**massive**_** writer's block. Now well into my second trimester I'm feeling and thinking much better. :) **

**I hope to update much more regularly from here on out (though I'm no longer going to set a date as to when the chapters will be ready). I REALLY want to have this story finished before my due date. I know (and have known all along) what I want to happen next, but it wasn't working. I OBVIOUSLY wasn't planning this chapter here and if it confuses you, good; it's meant to. I had to write what I was getting ideas for and I've found a way to make it work here.**

**I know some (read all) of you may find this chapter OOC, but go with it. I assure you there is a method to this madness (even if it won't become apparent for a chapter… or two, or three)**

**I'm sorry this is so short, but I'm just getting back into the groove so please forgive me.**

**-T**

**DISCLAIMER: No copyright infringement intended. All recognizable characters belong to the creators of this absolutely amazing show; namely Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.**

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><p>Sherlock stood in the doorway looking at Molly, not observing, actually looking. He didn't see the way she chewed on her bottom lip as she re-read , Pride and Prejudice for possibly the hundredth time; judging by the tattered cover and dog-eared pages. He didn't scoff at the soft smile on her face as Molly read of Lizzie's 'fine eyes'. No, what held Sherlock in place at the door was the way the soft golden lamp light fell over her ivory skin and bronze hair; the way she seemed to glow in her simple pink pajamas.<p>

Molly looked up at Sherlock with that same soft smile alight on her face, and when she did Sherlock felt as though the air had suddenly been drawn out of the room. Molly noticed the troubled look on Sherlock's and immediately set her book aside.

"Is something wrong?" Worry colored her words. Molly dropped her voice to a whisper, "Have you found something on Moriarty's gang?"

Sherlock shook his head almost imperceptibly as he continued to stare at her.

Immediately, Molly was out of bed. She pulled him inside and shut the door before quickly turning back to look at him more closely. His breathing was fast and he looked more pale than usual, if that was even possible, "Tell me what's wrong."

Sherlock swallowed, hard and his face contorted almost as if he was in pain. He shook his head yet again then brought his hand to her face, softly rubbing his knuckles along her cheekbone before brushing his thumb over her cheek and down the line of her jaw. Then with the opposite hand he gently traced her hairline along her temple, "I never—"

"Sherlock?" She down hard on her lip and tryed to push back the feelings that his touch aroused.

Anger flashed in Sherlock's eyes as he threw himself back from Molly, "This… I don't... DAMN!"

Concern, confusion, and fear flashed over Molly's features, "Sherlock, _What_ is wr—"

"Damn you!" Sherlock hissed as he advanced on Molly and kissed her with a force and hunger Molly had only ever dreamt of.

For a long moment Molly could neither think nor react. Once she retrieved a scrap of her thinking ability, however, Molly gently pushed back from Sherlock and dared to meet his eyes. What she saw there took her breath away.

"What have you done to me?" Sherlock whispered as drew her in again and rested his chin gently on the top of her head.

"What have I done to you?" Molly repeated. She stiffened a bit, but didn't draw back any.

Sherlock drew in a deep breath, "I don't _do_ emotions, I don't feel _affection_," Sherlock nearly spit the word out as though it was something vile, poisonous.

Molly stepped back now. Her brow furrowed as she met Sherlock's eyes.

"I… I _care_… for you… Molly," Sherlock's words were quiet and stunted, but clear enough that Molly knew she hadn't misunderstood him.

"I don't—" Sherlock began, but Molly brought her hand to his lips hushing him. A moment later she replaced her hand with her lips.

Molly moaned softly when Sherlock's lips once again left hers to trail soft kisses down her neck. She grabbed a hold of his belt and pulled him towards the bed.

With a jolt Molly awoke in her bed.

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><p><strong>AN: So… thoughts? Want to yell at me for taking so long to get this out? I HAD to give you some Sherlolly this chapter since you've all waited so long. And I WANT to know who you think had the dream. I'm actually trying to make my final decision on that. I have a preference but you never know, an overwhelming hope for the other one might sway me.**

**Addendum: I changed the last sentence since I changed the direction of where the story was heading (after a years absence. Sorry.)**


	15. Help!

**Help!**

_Hey, guys! Sorry this isn't an update, but it should lead to one soon if I get any responses. Over the last couple of months things have been crazy here. In addition to trying to get everything ready for the baby and having the usual summer rush of things to do we've lost power __twice__! The first time it was out for almost 5 days!_

_Anyway, now that I have power back and things have slowed down I have some time to write, and though I will answer the question of who had the dream that will only take up about 500 words. My original plan for continuing the story line after that is just NOT congealing. Thus, I NEED your help. I WAS going to have Sherlock take Molly out on a proper date, but every time I try to sit down and write that… It Just. Doesn't. Work. I can't think of anything besides working a case that they would do together (that Sherlock would enjoy or even think of, really)._

_NOW, if you have any ideas on that I'd love to hear them, because I REALLY want to stick with my original plan for the story. However, ANY ideas you have would be greatly appreciated. Keep in mind this story is rated T and is going to stay that way._

_I know how the story is going to end, and a the major points along the way, but I need some fresh ideas for the next couple chapters._

_Sorry I have to ask for help like this, but you have to have a brain to brainstorm, and the baby's hacked my brain and locked me out for the time being, so… _

_Really hoping for an idea that works within the next day or two. I'd LOVE to have a chapter up before August 1__st__._

_Thank you guys in advance!_

_Much Love,_

_Tess_


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